Boromir's Duty
by Grand Admiral Harmon
Summary: This story explores what would have happened if Boromir had lived?
1. Battle of Amon Hen

"Frodo!" shouted Boromir, "Come back! Where are you?"

He tripped over a log and nearly fell. He was able to stop himself though by clutching a branch on a nearby tree. He composed himself and letting go of the branch kept going, trying to find not only Frodo, but Merry and Pippin as well. His heart was heavy though, thoughts of the recent past scaring him, and he did not seem able to find anything.

He continued walking, and he soon neared a clearing. As he walked, he suddenly was brought back to the present, not even noticing he had wandered off in thought. Indeed, he didn't even seem to know if he had been thinking of anything. Then he heard something that struck him. The grunts and shrieks of hundreds of orcs.

_Aragorn was right,_ he shivered,_ The orcs are on this side of Anduin, even as he feared. I must prevent them from getting the rest of the company._

_Wait a second! I don't have to fight them_, he reasoned, _I'll just hurry back and get Aragorn and the others. We shall have more chance of fighting them as a group anyways._

But, right as he turned to run off, he heard a high voiced scream of rage. His heart leaped into his chest. _The halflings! _He thought in horror, then slapped himself on the forehead, "I am Boromir, Son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. I am a general of Gondor, the greatest man of Gondor even. I must save the halflings!"

He drew his sword and put his shield on his right arm. and raising high his sword bellowed, "Gondor!"

He charged forward, bursting from the trees, whose branches tried to cling to him almost as if to hold him back. _Those trees were trying to conspire against me_, Boromir thought as his blade cut deep into the flesh of the first unsuspecting orc.

He swung his blade with his massive arm, cutting away at many orcs that tried to turn towards him. Blood flew everywhere as many orcs fell. But, even as he slew the orcs, even more were now rallying against him. Five jumped forward to kill him, but each fell to the fury of Boromir and his mighty sword. The sun flickered red on the blood on the sword of Gondor as it swished through the air.

"Kill the white one!" shouted a particularly large orc, "kill him, you maggots!"

Boromir cut down another orc who got in his way as he continued his advance and the others cowered and began to back off. The large orc jumped forward, waving a scimitar in his hand and bearing a large shield with a white hand. Boromir laughed grimly at the orc and the orc hesitated, not able to comprehend what was funny. It was just enough time and Boromir took off the sword arm with a might swing and even as the orc looked down at his arm which was now liying on the ground, the blade of the sword plunged through his stomach. As he slid off the blade the rest squealed and ran away, throwing down their weapons as they fled.

Boromir looked at the dead bodies and almost gasped. He had killed forty! He didn't even think it had carried on more then five minutes. How did he kill so many in such a little time? He couldn't figure it out, even at the Battle of Osgiliath he had been unable to achieve so much.

"Boromir!" came a high voice, "Thank goodness you came! I had to kill twelve before you got here."

Out came Merry and Pippin who had been hiding behind a pile of dead orcs. Merry had his little sword out and blood was covered all over it. Pippin seemed bewildered at what had just happened. Boromir smiled.

"At least I know how come there are forty dead," Boromir told Merry cheerfully, putting his sword arm around the little hobbit.

"Actually," Pippin said, "You only killed 27."

Boromir laughed. But something disturbed him. Why had Merry and Pippin got out unscathed? They were no warriors. It did not make sense. They should have been killed almost instantly.

"What happened?" asked Boromir.

"They just attacked us," Merry said, "And we fought. But, they didn't want to kill us. They kept trying to grab us with their hairy filthy hands."

"But Merry wouldn't let them," Pippin said proudly, "He cut the hands off of many goblins and killed just as many."

"But, that doesn't make sense," Boromir said, kneeling by one of the dead, "They don't usually take prisoners. Why would they want you?"

He picked up the shield the dead orc had and saw a white hand. White Hand. What did it mean? And the helmet. It had an eleven rune 'S' on it. Sauron? No, not Sauron. Sauron did not allow his name to be written. S…S. Saruman? Saruman had a white hand for his emblem. And, he had a letter S in his name.

It could only make sense. But, why would he want them? Was it really that hard to figure out? He wanted the One Ring, and, Pippin and Merry happened to be hobbits. Just the same as Frodo.

He looked up with sudden fear towards Merry and Pippin and leaped to his feet.

"Back to the group!" he shouted, "Quick!"

They raced forward and suddenly out jumped an orc with a scimitar raised high. Boromir ran him through with his sword and pushed aside the body, which hit the ground with a sickening thud. They kept running, and more orcs jumped out, and they kept getting cut down. But, as they burst out into the clearing, they stopped with terror. On all three sides were orcs, and goblins. They shouted in their fierce language.

One giant orc strode forward and thumped on his chest. "We are the fighting Uruk-Hai. We do not fear the sun. We eat man-flesh. Give us the halflings and your life will be spared, Great Warrior."

Boromir handed his sword to Merry and slowly drew a knife from his belt. "I am a Great Warrior," he said, then as fast as a cat threw his knife.

It embedded itself in his head and the orc fell backwards without a sound.

The orcs all roared then rushed forward in one large mass. Boromir took his sword back and ordered the two hobbits to draw swords and they fought the hordes, cutting down twelve in the fierce fight. Bodies fell and orcs reeled. Boromir's mighty strokes clove deep into the orcs flesh. But, just as quickly as it began, the attack broke off; the orcs running back. Merry and Pippin picked up stones and began chucking them as hard as they could, striking down several orcs in the back.

Boromir watched with despair as they turned and rallied again. Then, he had an idea. Taking the mighty horn from his side, he waited until the orcs charged again before he put it to his lips and blew as hard a blast as he could. Orcs jumped back and clapped their claws over their ears and they hesitated.

But, no help came and the orcs charged again.

"Get behind me!" shouted Boromir, as orcs with mighty scimitars began striking his shield.

He kept cutting and stabbing many, wondering why they were not striking him. They simply seemed to be trying to run past him for the hobbits. By any rate, he ground his teeth, it would take more then that to get the hobbits.

After ten kills, the orcs fled again. But when they were far enough, archers came forward. Huge arrows came forward, and suddenly the shield burst asunder by a mighty hit by an arrow. His arm couldn't move, it was broken.

Again orcs jumped forward. _Aragorn, please, come_, Boromir silently plead as he blew his horn again. But, in middle of the blast, a scimitar cut it in two, the iron tip falling with a clank on the ground. Again Boromir cut down sixteen enemies, but an orc jumped forward and kicked Boromir against a tree, even as his foot was swept away from the leg.

Arrow after arrow now came, slamming hard into Boromir's body. His arms were getting worn out now, it getting harder to keep swinging his blade. But, each time he thought he couldn't do it again, he would think of Merry and Pippin and new strength would come.

He advanced against the horde in-front of him, blood trickling from his mouth. Three arrows struck him and his body was thrown back against the tree. His head whipped to the side from the impact and he saw Merry and Pippin, looking stunned and almost betrayed. He could see it in their eyes; their fear. Until now they had thought he had been invincible, that Aragorn and he could not be hurt. So had Boromir.

"I'm sorry," Boromir whispered as he jumped forward again, this time getting close enough to cut down three archers.

But, again, he was shoved roughly back against the tree by orcs and even as he slew them, a large orc struck the blade so hard with his scimitar that the blade broke at the hilt. But, Boromir swept the shards of the blade, and the orc crumpled backwards and blood and water flowed from his throat. Then again several arrows struck him. He slid to the ground as his strength finally gave out and orcs raced forward and grabbed Merry and Pippin.

"Boromir! Boromir!" Pippin cried out, "Save us!"

The words pained Boromir. He simply couldn't even stand. As the orcs raced away, leaving him alone, he grabbed an arrow and with an effort pulled it painfully from his chest. He was there for a couple minutes by himself.

He felt the weight of his faliure. He had failed Frodo, he had failed the Company. He was no mighty man. He had even failed to save Merry and Pippin.

Only now did he realize that he had loved the halflings. They had been like children to him. He would never see them again. They were lost, all because he had succumbed to the temptation of the Ring.

"Boromir!" Aragorn called out, crashing through the undergrowth. Andruil seemed to be lit with a fire.

"Nice for you to show up," Boromir teased with a sigh.


	2. Departure of Boromir

Aragorn kneeled by Boromir who had just plucked another arrow from his side. Boromir looked a mess, blood oozing from him. His shield was broken, and his horn was cloven in two. Aragorn was pained to see him in such pain.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked, "Where are Merry and Pippin?"

"Saruman's orcs came and took them away," Boromir said, "They didn't get Frodo, if you wish to know."

"You have something more to say?" Aragorn said, seeing the sad look in Boromir's eyes.

Boromir nodded, "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. He fled."

"What?" asked Aragorn in surprise, "How could this be?"

"The Ring is corrupt and works harder on the powerful," Boromir said in a didn't-you-get-that? tone of voice.

Aragorn sighed. It was true. Boromir had become corrupt but might have redeemed himself by fighting the orcs. Only if he had been more resistant.

"I do not blame Frodo for running from me," Boromir sighed, his eyes slowly closing, "I would have done the same thing if it had been me. I – am – sorry."

There was some commotion and out came Gimli and Legolas from the underbrush, throwing aside an orc they had gotten in the back. Gimli seemed most pleased with himself, but his armor was bloody and Legolas was now only able to use his knives; he had lost all his arrows.

"33, Master Elf," Gimli boasted.

"I am never going to live this down am I?" asked Legolas, "But, it was a good fight. I had the lead with 32; that was until I ran out of arrows."

They looked up and saw to their dismay Boromir grievously wounded. Aragorn looked up and called them over to his side. Boromir had gone to sleep.

"We must pull out these arrows if he is to survive," Aragorn told his two companions, "I do not know if they were poisoned or not."

"Let us hope not," murmured Gimli, "We can not afford to lose him."

"But where are the hobbits?" asked Legolas, "I do not see them."

"The orcs have captured them and are taking them to Isengard," Aragorn told them.

Gimli swore viciously. "Then our work must be quick then."

They worked very quickly, pulling out the arrows from Boromir's body. Gimli wondered at how easily human flesh tore as the arrows were pulled back out, making the wounds bigger. But, he did not care, as long as Boromir survived.

Aragorn inspected each arrow as they came out until the last had been taken out. It had been nearly a quarter of an hour. Finally, at long last he sighed with relief.

"It appears he has not been poisoned," he told his anxious companions.

"That lightens my heart," Legolas said, putting his hand on Aragorns' shoulder.

"But," Gimli asked, clumsily wrapping a bandage around Boromir, "what are we to do? He can not follow us in his condition."

"I have an idea," Boromir suddenly said, coming out of his sleep, "Give me one of the swan boats. I will be able to get to Minas Tirith that way."

"But the Falls of Raours!" exclaimed Gimli, "They are treacherous. None have yet survived."

"I must face them or die," Boromir told him, "The River of Gondor shall bear me back to the White Tower. There the healers of the city shall be able to do more then a Ranger in the wild, no insult intended."

Aragorn looked at him with concern. He wanted to help him, but, he did not know what to do more. Maybe it was right to do it this way. The Anduin River would bear him back, if only in a shattered mass.

"Then go, and may the blessings of all free people be on you," Aragorn said.

They then helped raise Boromir up, then helped him back to the banks. Upon arriving, they put several days worth of food in a swan boat and helped him climb into it. Then, he said good bye to each. But as he came to Aragorn, he threw his arms around him, much to the surprise of everyone.

"I go to announce your coming," Boromir told him, "And to prepare my father for your coming."

"I await the time I can go there," Aragorn replied.

With that, Boromir pushed his paddle into the bank and paddled off. Aragorn and his companions watched him as he got closer to the falls. They could not help but feel that they would see him again.

Boromir watched with fear as he got closer to the falls. As he got within ten yards off the falls, he lifted up the paddle and held it. He reached the edge and the boat tipped and down went the boat, and Boromir felt his stomach rise into his throat. The boat hit the water and it went under, engulfing him in water.


	3. Faramir

This is updated to fix an inconsistency that had been pointed out.

This use to be longer, also involved parts of a chapter that will end up being at least two chapters from now.

* * *

Boromir lay in the boat, looking at the stars above. His broken arm he had been able to set himself (indeed a very painful task) and it lay limply beside him. The makeshift splint would suffice for now, but, he needed real doctoring. The stars twinkled above him, and the moon shone though it was hiding behind a cloud. Boromir had put almost all his stuff on the banks for safekeeping.

"Again," he said to himself, "I am sorry Frodo."

He didn't know if he slipped into dream or not. But, the next thing he knew, there was a large scrapping sound. He bolted upright and discovered to his utter dismay that the boat had left the shore and was now at least thirty yards from where his stuff was. He went to grab the paddle but, just as he set the paddle in the water to get back to land, the boat capsized, plunging him into the cold water.

The current was stronger then he had thought. Before he was able to grab for the boat, he was being dragged down the river, far from the boat and water surged into his mouth and nostrils and eyes. The water pulled him under and he struggled to get out. His head barely exploded out of the water, and he had no time to gasp from air as the boat bashed him upside the head, knocking him back under. Water poured into his mouth and he went unconscious.

Faramir stood on the banks of the Anduin, listening to the water lapping against the shore in the pre-dawn hours. It was bitter cold and he drew his heavy dark green cloak around him closer. He would have thought the the broken down buildings beside him would have sheltered him, but the cold seemed to be trying to claw at him. He hoped that morning would come soon; for as soon as the morning came, he could return to head quarters.

He looked around the river, and saw a glint of silver in the water. Something was out in middle of the river. He raised an eyebrow, wondering if he should go and retrieve it. But, he dare not for fear of arousing the orcs on the other side, for not even here, West Osgiliath was he safe.

It could have been an orc that had been killed near Cair Andros, indeed, orcs were ever seen trying to swim across the river, one or two at a time, to cause mischief and murder. They had so far prevented any orc from crossing the river. But, who knew how long it would last.

But, he did not need to worry too much. Something massive, an overhanging wall of a broken building in East Osgiliath, fell with a crash into the water. On both sides soldiers rushed to the river bank to prepare for battle, and for a few tense moments archers shot arrows at the opposin banks, but they soon came to realize what had happened and returned to the little rest they could get before the morning.

Suddenly, at Faramir's feet came the thing that was in the water. Forced by the gentle ripples, it had been pushed to the banks. Faramir bent and discovered a great man, near drowned from a lot of time being submerged. He saw one of the arms was broken, and the splinter had come off. He hurried and retied it, and there was an unconscious groan from the man. Lifting the man in his arms, he dragged him back to his head quarters. He put the man on his bed and suddenly collapsed from delight. It was Boromir, returned to Gondor.

* * *

Denethor looked kindly at his son, who had recovered from nearly drowning. Boromir was ravaging a leg of chicken as he was eating. Faramir sat apart from them, knowing well enough he was not really wanted here. Denethor listened to his son, who between bites of chicken told of his journey (but stayed clear of the purpose of the quest.)

"A good tale, my son," Denethor said, sitting comfortably on his small stone throne, "But, you do not tell all you know."

"I will not reveal all I did," Boromir shrugged his shoulders, "A man is entitled to his own secrets."

"Even from the Steward of Minas Tirith?" Denethor asked, for the first time suspicion entering his voice.

"You may ask questions," Boromir shrugged, filling content as he finished the leg and tossed the bone to the dog lying by him.

"Indeed I will," Denethor said, "Did you discover the meaning of Isildur's Bane?"

Boromir shrugged. "I might have," he said evasively.

"And what of the Halfling?" Denethor pressed onward.

Boromir nodded. "I saw him."

"And," Denethor leaned forward like a cat on a mouse, "Who was this Aragorn you speak so highly of?"

Boromir nearly grimaced. How was he going to break it to his father? His father was a proud man, and would not take it lightly the news of one coming to take his place. He had also had a spasm of pain from his broken arm.

"He was-a mighty man," Boromir said, choosing his words carefully.

"Was he from Gondor?" Denethor pressed.

"No," Boromir shook his head, "He was a ranger from the North."

"A ranger from the north," whispered Denethor, "You admire a ranger?"

"He was not just any ranger," Boromir said with fierce devotion to Aragorn, "He was the best."

"I see," muttered Denethor, "Indeed the wizard Gandalf taught you well."

Boromir frowned at that comment as his father withdrew inwardly to his own thoughts. He didn't need to talk badly about Gandalf. Gandalf was a good man. Or, at least, had been, before Fire and Shadow had come.

"Let us go enjoy the good weather Faramir," Boromir finally said, standing up and taking leave from his father to go.

Faramir understood what that meant. It was a code phrase they used when they needed to have a serious talk. They both strode out of the great cold stone hall and into the courtyard.

Faramir was automatically struck with awe at the white tree. Even though he had seen it many times; the white tree, though it was dead, still held respect. A symbol that indeed, the king would return.

They walked to the wall, bypassing the stiff backed guards. Boromir leaned against the wall and stared out towards the north. Faramir watched his brother, knowing his face only masked the turmoil inside. Finally Boromir spoke.

"Aragorn is more then I said," Boromir said.

"How so?" asked Faramir.

"He is the Heir of Isildur," Boromir whispered.

"What?" demanded a shocked Faramir.

"I know," Boromir agreed, throwing up his good arm, "I didn't believe it myself until he showed the sword that was broken. It has been reforged."

"Then," Faramir muttered, "Father must know."

"Father," growled Boromir, "How can I tell him someone has come to claim the throne? He is a stubborn man. He will never accept this."

"I don't think he will have a choice," Faramir thought out loud, "It is his duty to surrender the office."

"Are you thinking clearly?" demanded Boromir, "Father would never accept the King has returned. Especially from the north."


End file.
